From the Drakos-Pryce compound, Pity could see all of Columbia, spreading down the coast in both directions. She stepped closer to the picture window, so near that her breath left a fog on the glass. It was beautiful—majestic and stern, its gray spires reaching into the clouds. Just as she’d always imagined it would be.

“Taking their damn time.” Siena paced across the room for the hundredth time. She’d been jumpy since they arrived in the city, and it was getting worse with each passing day. “Not enough space here,” she had said one night, talking into her liquor. “This city leans in on you like a chest cold.”

A week ago a dozen stern guards in black suits had met them at the train station and immediately taken custody of Max. Siena and Pity were escorted to a hotel, set up in rooms so luxurious that even Casimir looked drab by comparison, and told to wait. Since then, Pity had spent hours wandering the city, gaping at the soaring buildings and glittering glass. She had seen the museums and art galleries, the artfully landscaped parks, even walked along the sandy beaches, bare feet treading through the lapping waves.

Have you ever swum in the ocean?

Max never felt far away. Every moment she was aware that this was his world, the one he had so desperately avoided. And remembering that, she made herself look, really look, until the cracks in the gilded veneer showed themselves: the uniformed people whose heads hung low as they left the pantheon core of the city at day’s end; the beggars and veterans camped beneath bridges and overpasses; the angry graffiti scrawled in the alleys. It was all there if she looked hard enough.

Finally, the summons came. A sleek black vehicle carried them over a long bridge to an island, where it deposited them in front of the largest house Pity had ever seen. They were led through its echoing halls to a plush, sprawling sitting room.

An hour had passed since then.

No news was good news, Siena had told her. Payment depended on Max being returned alive. If he had died, the bounty hunter assured her, they would’ve been booted from their cozy digs.

That fact didn’t comfort Pity as much as she wanted. Her fingers worried at the fabric of her pants, her guns left behind at the hotel. “Do you think something is wrong?”

“Nope,” said Siena. “Our time ain’t worth what theirs is, that’s all.”

Moments later, the door creaked open. Pity straightened. She tried not to look as nervous as she felt, but her chest was tight, her stomach fluttery.

Jonathan Pryce entered first. He was a tall, narrow man with hazelnut-brown hair streaked silver. Piercing eyes caged behind delicate, rectangular glasses swept over Siena and then Pity. Alanna Drakos stood a head shorter but seemed bigger than him somehow, with striking green eyes, a joyless mouth, and thick, dark hair pulled back with combs. Between them, Pity could just see Max, a composite with every sharp edge removed.

“Ms. Bond,” Alanna Drakos said. “Lovely to finally meet you.”

Her tone suggested otherwise, but Siena nodded civilly. “Mrs. Drakos, Mr. Pryce.”

“Who is this?” said Jonathan Pryce.

“My new assistant,” said Siena simply. “Serendipity.”

“What a pretty name.” Max’s mother barely glanced at Pity. “I’m sure you’ll be happy to hear that our son is doing nicely. Our doctors assure us that with a few months of close attention, he’ll make a full recovery. We owe you our thanks.”

Pity let out the breath she had been holding. “Is he here?”

“That’s good news,” Siena interjected, shooting her a warning look. “And you can thank me all you like, so long as you pay me, too.”

Jonathan Pryce adjusted his glasses. “Your payment was transferred a few minutes ago.”

The bounty hunter smiled. “It’s been a pleasure, then.”

Pity cleared her throat.

“I hear you,” said Siena. “One more thing, if you don’t mind. My assistant here was hoping to have a word with your son before we go on our way.”

They stared at her, Alanna Drakos with one dark eyebrow raised.

“Just for a few minutes.” Pity gave them a disarming smile, mimicking the one Finn used, the one that had always gotten her whatever she wanted. “Some of the folks who knew Ma—your son out west, they gave me messages to pass on to him. Good-byes they didn’t get to say, that sort of thing.”

Her heart thudded as they considered her. A look passed between them, but finally Alanna Drakos nodded.

“As long as you’re quick,” she said. “He’s still quite weak, you understand.”

“Yes,” said Pity. “I understand.”

Alanna Drakos kept a half step ahead of Pity as they traveled through the house. Her heels clicked against the stone floors, reminding Pity acutely of Selene’s office. She wondered how much of the truth Alanna Drakos knew about her son’s injury. The story they had told was the same one concocted for Sheridan’s death—that rogue Reformationists had stormed Casimir, killing dozens before they were finally turned back. Rumors and half tales had reached Columbia before they had, and Pity had been amazed to see how quickly the explanation was accepted. Certainly Max’s parents knew it was a fiction, but they also seemed content to keep their part in the affair secret.

“Did you know my son?” Alanna Drakos said abruptly. “During his time away from us?”

“Yes.” Pity chose her words with care. “He saved my life once.” Twice, in truth, but it didn’t seem wise to point out that the bullet he’d taken had been meant for her. “If it weren’t for him, I wouldn’t be here right now.”

“Hmm.” Alanna Drakos sped up her pace.

“Your son has a good heart, ma’am.”

She stopped in front of a door, eyes as hard as emeralds. “Be quick.” She turned the handle.

The room was large, white, and almost entirely empty. One wall was glass, looking out into a small courtyard filled with flowers and trees. On another was a display, streaming the afternoon’s news broadcasts. Opposite that was a bed, surrounded by machines that beeped and clicked and hummed. Pity saw all of this and none of it.

Max lay in the bed.

She barely recognized him at first. His hair was shorter, the blue spikes gone. All of his piercings had been removed. But when his eyes opened and alighted on her, familiarity returned. They stared at each other.

“Darling,” his mother said from behind her. “This young woman asked to have a word with you.”

“Pity.” His voice cracked.

“Hi.” She blinked, desperate to keep the tears away.

“Thanks, Mom,” he said, and waited.

For a moment, Pity feared that his mother would remain, but then she heard the click of the door as it shut. She ran to the bed.

“What are you doing here?” Max hissed as she crouched down beside him.

Pity wanted to kiss him so badly that her whole body ached. If she could have thrown her arms around him and healed every inch of him with love, she would have. Instead, she took one of his hands in hers and squeezed. “Who do you think got you here?” Her face felt like it would split from smiling. “You’re alive,” she said, finally believing it. “You’re okay.”

Max squeezed back weakly. “I told you I would be. And you… you’re okay…” His face went grim. “You are okay, aren’t you? I saw the broadcasts. Sheridan is…”

“Dead,” she interjected, her words wooden. “An unavoidable tragedy.”

He didn’t ask her to elaborate. She filled him in on the other details, good and bad, elated to be talking to him. When she was done, they sat quietly, surrounded by the lifeless sounds of the medical machines.

“You can’t stay,” Max said finally, his voice thick.

“I know. Siena’s been paid. We’ll be heading out pretty soon.”

He nodded several times, as if forgetting when to stop. “I…”

“You’re going to get better.” Pity tightened her grip on his hand. “You’re going to get yourself strong again, and then I’m coming back for you. Do you understand?”

“Pity—”

“I’m coming back unless you tell me that you don’t want me to. Tell me that, Max, and I’ll stay away forever.”

He stared at her, eyes wet, a small, sad smile on his lips. “I don’t want you to go at all.”

She stood. “Then hurry up and get well. For me. And to hell with your parents or anyone else who tries to get in my way. I’ve had dissident drifters, trained assassins, and mad politicians try to kill me, and I’m still here.”

She leaned over and kissed him on the lips, not caring if they were being watched. Max returned the kiss eagerly, reaching up to place a hand behind her neck and pull her closer. When they separated, Pity kept her face a few inches from his. “I don’t care if I’m in Cessation, Columbia, or at the ends of the earth, so long as I’m with you.”

“Same here,” said Max. “I love you, Serendipity Jones.”

“I love you, too, Max,” she said. “Or whatever your name is.”

He laughed.

The door opened again. Pity turned to find Alanna Drakos staring icily at her.

“I trust you’re finished now,” she said.

“We are”—Pity smiled at her and reached down to give Max’s hand one more squeeze—“ma’am.”

“Then I’ll show you out.”

“Your son has a good heart,” Pity said again as she passed through the door, low so that only Max’s mother could hear. “It’s in the right place and with the right people. You should make sure to remember that.”

Siena was waiting for her in front of the house, smoking one of her ugly cigarettes and leaning against a marble pillar. “Say what you needed to?”

“Yes. For the moment.”

“Well, where to now? Or are you still getting your fill of Columbia?”

Pity shook her head. “No, I’ve seen as much of it as I want to.” She thought for a second. “Finn talked about New Boston. Think you can find any jobs up that way?”

Siena blew a cloud of smoke at the city. “I suppose I could. North it is, then.”

“North,” echoed Pity. And after that, maybe south, or in whatever direction fate and the bounty took them. But one day… She turned and stared at Columbia, and at the sun that was beginning to drift lower in the afternoon sky. Beyond it, past the farthest edges of her vision, was another city that, down to her core, she knew she would never be able to leave behind entirely—and didn’t want to.

One day, west again.